


when can i see you again

by aeneapsych



Series: Tumblr fic prompts [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: High School Reunion, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, filthy bathroom sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:51:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2227998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeneapsych/pseuds/aeneapsych
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek reluctantly goes to his twenty-year high school reunion expecting nothing.    That's not what he gets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when can i see you again

**Author's Note:**

> Meme prompt fill for Silvia - Sterek high school reunion au
> 
> Thanks BK for the quick beta :D

“That’ll be eight dollars.”

“Seriously?” Derek asked the bartender, eyed the most likely watered-down gin and tonic in front of him on the bar. Sighing, he yanked his wallet from his back pocket with a bit more force than what was probably necessary, pulled out a ten and handed it over. The bartender gave Derek a fake smile as he took the money.

Whatever. Eight bucks was worth it if it helped Derek get through the evening. His twenty year high school reunion was the last place Derek wanted to be tonight. He would have preferred to be spending it on the couch with a book as usual, but Laura had come over after dinner and basically thrown clothes on him, shoved him into her car, and kicked him out onto the curb at the entrance to the hotel, flipping him off as she drove away. An hour at most, he told himself. Long enough to appease her, and short enough that most people shouldn’t be drunk enough yet to start trying talking to him. Derek hadn’t been popular in high school, tall and gangly, nervous and quiet. He didn’t expect anyone here to remember him. His only friends from back then, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac, weren’t planning on showing up. And the past twenty years had done enough to change his appearance, for the better, he hoped, that no one else would even be able to recognize him. 

Walking over to an empty high-top table, Derek set his drink down and pulled out his phone -- only fifteen minutes had passed. This was going to be a very slow hour. Trying to avoid eye contact with anyone, Derek downed his drink in one long gulp, the gin barely burning in his throat. Watered-down, just like he thought. 

“These things are the fucking worst,” a voice said from next to him, and Derek jerked back.

A man about Derek’s height leaned against the table, a tired smile on his face, small laugh lines surrounding his mouth. He wore glasses now, a pair of trendy frames, and there was a dusting of heavy stubble that never used to be there when they were sixteen, several gray hairs threaded through the dark brown ones on his head, but Derek could have recognized him anywhere: Stiles Stilinski. Frequent star of Derek’s nightly jerk-off fantasies when he had been a teenager, and who was he kidding, still held a supporting role occasionally even now. They had kissed, once, both of them sloppy teenage drunk on cheap keg beer at a party junior year. Stiles had never acknowledged it afterwards, never spoken more than a handful of words to Derek until the day they graduated. He had run up to Derek as he collapsed into his mom’s car at the end of the ceremony, sweaty from wearing the heavy polyester gown in the harsh California sun, Stiles looking awkward as he had stuck a hand out to Derek, congratulated him in a breathless, almost reverent tone. 

“They are,” Derek replied, wondering for a moment if Stiles realized what an impact he’d made on Derek’s life, what a place he had made for himself inside Derek’s brain. Stiles probably didn’t even know who he was talking to, Derek thought to himself bitterly.

“I know we’re suppose to reminisce,” Stiles said as he rubbed his thumb over a line of pale skin on his left ring finger, absently, gaze darting down to it then back up to lock with Derek’s. “I know we’re supposed to talk about our jobs, our families... kids. But I don’t want to. And I don’t think you do either.”

Derek flinched at the word families, flashes of wasted years in his mind, waves of guilt in his gut. No, he didn’t want to talk about any of that. He shook his head, keeping eye contact.

Tongue slipping out, wetting the pink flesh of his bottom lip before sliding back inside his mouth, a mouth Derek still remembered with exquisite clarity, Stiles raised his eyebrow and asked, “Well?”

Derek nodded, pushed away from the table to follow Stiles, legs shaky with adrenaline, blood pumping to his cock, mind going hazy. 

Ahead of him, Stiles shoved open the door to the bathroom, smoothly moving aside for the guy leaving, holding it for Derek as he joined him inside. Stiles checked under the stall doors, head snapping around in one last look around the bathroom before he skidded back over to lock the door. Derek opened his mouth to speak, not knowing what he would say but wanting to say something, but Stiles grabbed him by the collar, yanked him in for a kiss, rough and messy. 

Stiles kissed like he was angry, like they were fighting, some old argument that had built up over the years, never resolved, never fixed. Derek pushed, but Stiles pushed back harder until Derek’s back was digging into the cheap, faux-granite countertop, the edge cutting into the skin above his belt. Stiles shoved his thigh in between Derek’s, pressed, grinding up against Derek’s cock. He bit along Derek’s jaw, whispered filthy things in his ear, things Derek was certain no one had ever said to him outside of his own lonely mind. 

The cheap plastic creaked as Derek squeezed the edges of the countertop, tried to remain upright when Stiles had dropped to his knees in front of him, nuzzled at his cock through the fly in his dress pants. Stiles sucked Derek off sloppy and wet, choked himself on Derek’s length with crude noises, drool running down his chin as he looked up, popped his lips off the tip and smiled, grim satisfaction spread across his pretty, bruised mouth. He was just as brutal, just as cruel, as he spread Derek open, his tongue buried in his ass, Derek leaning forward, hands grasping the metal faucets, the automatic sensor flipping on and off, on and off, splashing cold droplets onto Derek’s forearms. Derek focused on his own face in the mirror as he tried not to come, the slick slide of Stiles’ tongue around and across his rim overloading all his senses, shutting his brain off from higher functions. The flush high on his cheeks was so pink, a color he hadn’t seen on himself in years. He almost didn’t recognize himself, and a thought slipped into his addled mind, a thought about how the man with the wedding ring tan on his finger but no wedding ring, the man on his knees behind him with his face buried in Derek’s ass, probably didn’t recognize him either. A twisting ache pulled at him, and Derek wasn’t sure if it was because he cared or because he didn’t. 

Derek let himself be moved, manhandled like a puppet as Stiles got him into the position he wanted, legs closed and arms braced on the sink so Stiles could slide himself between Derek’s thighs, his dick hitting the underside of Derek’s balls with each thrust forward. He pushed his hips back to meet Stiles’, watched in the mirror as Stiles wrapped an arm around Derek’s waist to tug at his leaking cock. They looked debauched, skin and faces flushed, sweat shining on Derek’s torso, his button-down shirt open like a frame, Stiles muscled forearm striped with veins working as he pulled long and slow on Derek’s dick. Tasting blood as he bit down his lip, Derek let out a muffled cry when he came, painted the shiny metal sink with white, the mirror displaying their images back at him, and it felt like it was happening to someone else. It was almost easier this way, with their reflections, to pretend it could be. The sticky mess between his thighs registered with Derek before he noticed that Stiles had slumped against his back, his weight heavy, but not unwelcome. 

“I never thought I’d see you again, Derek,” Stiles murmured, his lips half-pressed into the skin at Derek’s neck. 

Derek’s heart caught in his throat, tight and choking, and he gasped out, “Stiles? I…”

“You think I didn’t remember you?” he asked Derek, and there was the fire back in his eyes, the same that had shown from them when Stiles had been on his knees before. “I’ve always remembered you. How couldn’t I?”

Derek didn’t have an answer for that, didn’t know how to reconcile that this was real, that this was actually happening. 

“I’m not married, you know,” Stiles explained as he wet some paper towels and began to clean the mess from their skin. “I noticed you kept looking at my finger. It’s not… we’re separated. It’s over. And I don’t know what’s happened with you over the past twenty years, but if you’ll let me, I’d like to learn.”

He didn’t have much to tell, at least not anything that interesting, but Derek thought he might be able to start with a story about a boy he kissed when he was seventeen.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr](http://aeneapsych.tumblr.com) :D


End file.
